Yield
by BeforeTheStorm15
Summary: Grunts most unladylike burst from Elizabeth as she struggled beneath him, and Darcy's heart warmed to hear them. Her passion, her anger and her spirit were precisely why he'd fallen so ardently in love with the fierce, young woman. "Even with sweat at your brow and curses on your lips, you are the most beautiful creature I ever did see, Mrs. Darcy-Bennet."


**A/N:** So I watched Pride and Prejudice and Zombies a few days ago and fell in love. It was just a really enjoyable movie, and Darcy and Elizabeth were so fun that I couldn't resist writing a little something. It's set a few years after the movie.

Also...why is there so little fanfiction for this book/film/couple? It's a sin.

So here's my little contribution.

Leave your thoughts if you can :)

* * *

"My dear Lizzie, I am experiencing a sense of deja vu."

"As you should. I myself have lost count of how many times we have encountered this position."

In this case, the deja vu was accompanied by a gleeful grin on Elizabeth's part and an unwilling, almost-surrender on Darcy's part.

She had pinned him. Yet again.

Just when he'd begun to become certain in the complete knowledge of all of his wife's battle tactics and manoeuvres. The quick spins which brought about powerful kicks; the ducks and rolls into her next move.

"Do you yield, sir?"

For a moment, he considered it. She looked like an avenging angel, straddling his hips with a dangerous focus in her lovely eyes. There was never any need for shyness between the pair anymore, especially when it came to training.

Or other areas of their lives. Not that there had ever been passiveness. Especially from Elizabeth.

 _It would be like asking a swan not to bite_ , Darcy thought fondly.

He adored Elizabeth beyond wealth and status and the values of society. His adoration was as wide as the world was uncertain. There was very little he could ever deny her save for the promise to never do anything as recklessly romantic as saving Lydia from Wickham. Darcy felt he could, on the day's arrival, take on the apocalypse and all its horrors; armed with weapons and his wife.

She was a partner in every aspect of the world. A lover, a fighter, and a dreamer. Her will was as strong as her body, and Darcy fought the blush creeping into his cheeks and his own body reacted to Elizabeth's closeness.

"Well? Do you accept defeat, Mr. Darcy?" She grinned widely and tossed her head back, flicking lose strands of curls away from her eyes.

It was then that he lurched forward suddenly and tackled Elizabeth around the waist. His hands sought the hips he had held many a time and pushed, quickly - but carefully - able to calculate the exact weight needed to tilt their bodies and switch the positions.

Grunts most unladylike burst from Elizabeth as she struggled beneath him and Darcy's heart warmed to hear them. Her passion, her anger and her spirit were precisely why he'd fallen so ardently in love with the fierce, young woman.

"Even with sweat at your brow and curses on your lips, you are the most beautiful creature I ever did see, Mrs Darcy-Bennet."

"Mrs _Bennet_ -Darcy." She hissed, but there was a shift in her eyes. The bloodlust blossomed into something softer and even more welcoming to Darcy. Elizabeth sighed heavily, still applying pressure against his hips with _nearly_ all the strength in her upper thighs.

After all, he had felt the capabilities of Elizabeth's strength _outside_ the training room to the fullest extent. Quite contently, one might add. His wife was...zealous to say the least.

His private thoughts must have reflected in Darcy's gaze, as Elizabeth halted her protests to quirk the corners of her mouth. She eased up on his hold and instead leaned her unconstrained upper body towards his until their chests were pressed together and their heads even closer.

The kiss was the distraction he had been awaiting. Darcy welcomed it, releasing his hold on her hips to slowly travel the lengths of Elizabeth's waist and stomach before encircling her slight frame. Soft and attentive, he was completely caught in her mercy now. If chosen, Elizabeth could steal the breath from his lungs with a solid kick or head-to-nose attack. Instead, she slid her legs around his own waist and kissed him more deeply.

When she pulled back for a moment, lips bright and eyes earnest, Elizabeth smiled warmly. The fight gone completely. "You ought to work on your defence, my dear."

His brow furrowed. "Whatever do you mean- _oof!"_

Legs tightening in an iron grip, she used the advantage of surprise and twisted, grunting at the force of flipping Darcy's weight across once more.

The more fool was he to believe that the fight had left Elizabeth even but a moment.

And there they were, yet again, with Elizabeth straddling her husband as he looked up in a mixture of bemusement and affection.

"I will not ask again, sir. Do. You. Yield?"

A retort dissolved on his tongue in an instant as Darcy studied his wife, powerful and brilliant in all her glory. She had bested him many a times, and after three years of fighting and loving every part of Elizabeth Bennet-Darcy, he really ought to accept his fate.

"Always." He said softly. "You have had me at your mercy since the day we met. Do what you will with my poor heart. Crush it. Protect it. Hide it under lock and key. It is yours completely, alas, as am I."

Elizabeth stilled. Her cheeks were flushed and the tight strains of her white blouse offered Darcy a rather agreeable position from the floor. Very slowly and deliberately, she lowered herself onto her husband as her lips pulled into a radiant smile.

"Excellent choice." She breathed, sealing the sentiment with a kiss. They embraced for a few moments. His chest strained when she pulled back and noticed the look of unabashed desire upon her features. He was quite certain the feeling was mutual.

Running a hand through the ties in his shirt, Elizabeth loosened them smoothly and placed her palms flat against his bare chest. Her voice lowered into a tease. "I am quite satisfied with your decision."

Her fingertips continued their exploration, and when she spoke, her tone was as husky as Darcy felt. "Well, not _entirely_ so..."

Remarkably so, this time he was quick to catch on.

There were over one-hundred thousand words in the English language alone. A little under that in the language of the French. And yet as Darcy carried his wife into their bedroom, he could think of very few words to describe his fortune in this very moment and the dream of the years to come.

In a world of zombies and mayhem and chaos, Fitzwilliam Darcy had married a hurricane. And he was content to live his life one foot in the rain and the other in a fairytale. As long as Elizabeth was by his side throughout.

* * *

I hope to write more set in this universe, if any inspiration would kindly reveal itself to me :p


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